When I awoke I counted
the inches of tether the blinds
had left,
wondering if there was
enough slack to try.
And on this day something beautiful
said “goodbye”
to an empty room,
what was left was merely the regret
of filling that room’s void
with a reminiscent phrase.
There was a quieted refrain
when her heels twists so quickly
that she left pinwheels in my pupils
that last to this day.
That day
it wasn’t so long ago,
but long enough
that I’ve forgotten how to catch
rocks in my jowls and store
them properly for winter.
In my hands I crack coffee mugs,
got overzealous and reached
for tea pots
burned myself on the good,
I have the pinwheels to prove it.
I no longer grasp for straw
only spaghetti – I can eat it
when it breaks –
hoping someday we will all dissipate,
call each other in synapses
and pop like rice.
If I have learned anything
in this last cycle
it’s that you’re only as good
as your worst attempt…
even if it was at a taught belt buckle.
Oh, wait, the other thing I learned
is how to drown out
the sounds when foot bones bend then break,
when tendons rip themselves from acids,
my ankles could’ve never supported me,
then again,
no one told me that
my toes would shatter
as I tipped on egg shells
around your carousel.
I’ll see if I can make a splint out of
mugs,
egg shells
and mortared with pinwheels.
Just maybe the thing I ruin
will one day
help me walk to you.
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